by C. J. Hill
She lowered her bow. “And maybe I would practice if there were any point to it. But when was the last time someone needed to defend themselves against a bunch of angry hay bales with a bow and arrow?”
He took the bow from her, nocked an arrow, then without taking his eyes off her, he shot at the target. His arrow, impossibly, hit dead center.
“It’s not about defense. It’s about eye-hand coordination, reflexes, and knowing where your target is at all times.” Without waiting for a response, he walked the distance to the target and pulled out the arrows. After he’d finished putting the equipment back in the shed, he motioned for her to follow him again. “Let’s go to the shooting range.”
She trudged after him, glaring at his back, but not pushing herself to catch up with him. Knowing where your target is at all times. Boy, he took himself way too seriously.
She wondered how old he was. At first she had guessed seventeen, but the way he talked—so sternly—he was probably eighteen. When guys got that old, they thought they were adults. Real men. He would probably spend the entire month talking down to her.
She wanted to point out that she hadn’t signed up for archery or any shooting classes, but she didn’t. If he wanted to see her marksmanship, she’d show him. She could fire off a round at seventy-five yards and never miss the center of the target.
They went inside the shooting range. A chubby, middle-aged woman sat at the front desk, her curly black hair pulled back in a ponytail. She was reading a book, but looked up and smiled when they came in. “Well, aren’t you a pretty thing! Victoria, right?”
Tori smiled back. “I go by Tori.” Being a senator’s daughter didn’t usually make her such a celebrity, and it was a little discomforting that everyone knew who she was. A lot of students at her private school were kids of congressmen or ambassadors. It was no big deal. She blended in with them. Here, she stood out.
The woman leaned forward, keeping her finger tucked in her book to save her place. “Welcome to Dragon Camp, honey. You getting situated all right?”
Tori nodded politely. “Yes.”
“I’m Shirley, resident range master and professional mom. Technically, I’m only Bess’s mom, but I claim all the kids.”
That made her Dr. B’s wife. Apparently the camp was a family affair.
Shirley kept looking her over. “All of this can be overwhelming at first. You let me know if you need anything.”
Jesse rested a hand on top of the counter. “Right now we need rifles, ammo—the whole shebang.”
Shirley bent down behind the counter. “I have it waiting for you.” She hefted out a long black case and a canvass bag, which she handed to Jesse. “Make sure you go over the safety precautions with Tori.”
Jesse swung the strap of the canvass bag over his shoulder. “I will.”
“And make sure she wears her helmet.”
“I will.”
Shirley took a key from a drawer and gave it to him. “None of that trick driving while you have Tori on the motorcycle.”
Motorcycle?
“Don’t worry,” Jesse said. “I’ll keep her in one piece.”
Shirley beamed at him like she wanted to reach over and pinch his cheeks. “You have a fun time, now.”
Instead of going back toward the shooting lanes, Jesse headed outside. Tori followed, blinking in the sunlight. “Where are we going?
“I’m driving you to the outdoor range. It’s by the mountain.”
They walked to the side of the building and a garage that held over a dozen identical, sleek black motorcycles.
Funny, the camp brochure hadn’t said anything about motorcycles. Which was probably for the best. Tori’s mother thought they were unsafe. But just seeing them there, gleaming, made Tori’s heart beat in anticipation. How fast did they go?
Jesse attached the gun case and canvass bag to the side of a bike, then went to a wall where rows of helmets hung. He tossed one to her, put one on himself, then climbed on the bike.
She put on her helmet and sat down behind him, awkwardly wondering how close she should be. And what was she supposed to do with her hands?
“Put your feet here,” he said, pointing to the foot pegs, “and hang on to me.”
Without further instructions, he turned the key and the motorcycle vibrated to life. It hummed softly—not like the rattling, chainsaw buzz that most motorcycles had.
She wrapped her arms loosely around Jesse’s waist. “How come the bike is so quiet?”
He hesitated before answering. “We don’t like to disturb the birds.”
She wasn’t sure whether he expected her to believe his answer. Before she had a chance to say anything else, the bike rocketed out of the garage and down a dirt trail. She held on to Jesse tighter, peering around his shoulder to let the wind rush against her. She liked both sensations: hanging on to Jesse and the feel of speed.
The trees whipped by them in a blur of glossy green, and the bumps on the uneven path made the ride more exciting. It was like jet skiing in the waves, but without the ocean mist.
The ten minutes it took them to get to the range didn’t seem long enough, which meant maybe her mother was right about motorcycles. They could be dangerous. She wasn’t the type of girl who should like holding on to biker guys. As Jesse climbed off the motorcycle, she forced her gaze away from him and tried to revive images of Roland, of guys who wore crisp khaki pants and expensive cologne. Guys who understood what stock portfolios were. After a few moments of this, she felt like herself again.
The range was a narrow strip of land that had been cleared of trees. So many clay remnants littered the ground, it looked like someone had put down a long, orange carpet. A ten-foot mound of dirt stood at the end. It had a target paper attached to it, but instead of the usual silhouette of a man, there was a picture of a dragon.
Jesse hung his helmet over one side of the handlebars and Tori put hers on the other. He unclamped the gun case and said, “We’ll start with some targets, then move on to skeet shooting.”
“You brought shotguns, too?” she asked.
He pulled a pair of goggles and earmuffs from the bag and gave them to her. “We use rifles.”
There was no point in using rifles to shoot clay disks. Rifles were for big game, and very few deer or elk went gliding around the sky. “Why?” she asked.
He didn’t answer. Instead, he took two automatic rifles from the case. Before handing her one, he went through a whole spiel about gun safety. Always assume your gun is loaded. Keep the barrel pointed at the ground or down range at all times. Keep your finger off the trigger until you’re ready to shoot. She’d heard it before. While he spoke, Tori put on her goggles and earmuffs. When he started the lecture on how to use a rifle, she took the gun from him. “I think I can handle it from here.”
Focusing through the scope, she aimed, then put a round into the paper target. The empty casing fell to her feet with a satisfied tinkle.
Jesse checked the mound through a pair of binoculars. “You completely missed the dragon.”
“I wasn’t aiming for the dragon. I decided to make him the outline of a cape instead. Now he can be Super Dragon.”
Jesse lowered the binoculars. Only a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth let her know he found her artwork amusing. “Okay, now I’ll throw some clay for you. See how many you can hit.”
He took three disks from the canvass bag and tossed them into the air in front of her. She hit the first on the way up, the second on the way down, and the third inches from the ground.
He didn’t comment, just pulled out more clay. Four discs went up this time. She hit two; the other two broke on the ground. Not bad, really, but he scowled in disapproval.
“All right,” he said, taking out another handful. “Now do it with your eyes closed.”
She let the barrel of her gun fall to her side. “My eyes closed? What a great gun-safety tip. What could go wrong with that?”
“I’m standing beside you
. You’ve got nothing to hit except trees or dirt.”
“But what’s the point?” She put one hand on her hip. “And what kind of camp orientation is this anyway?”
He held the disks up, ready to throw them. “Just do it.”
She faced forward and shut her eyes. She heard the whiz of discs leaving his hand, then a slight noise above her in the sky. Was it possible to hear the discs spinning so far away? She shot toward the noise and a disc exploded. She shot again, lower this time; another crack. The next bullet hit only air, and the rest of the clay crashed onto the ground.
She lowered her gun and opened her eyes. “I got two?”
“Yes, but I threw up six.”
“Still—two. That’s pretty good for blind shooting.”
“It’s passable.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Passable? How many people do you know who shoot as well as I do?”
“I know ten who shoot better.”
“Oh, really? I’d like to meet them.”
He sighed, took out four discs, and threw them in the air. He fired, holding the gun with only one hand. It didn’t seem possible to aim holding the rifle that way, especially with the kickback, and yet every disc broke before it hit the ground. Then he threw up five disks, shut his eyes, and shattered three.
“You’ve already met Dirk, Kody, Shang, Lilly, Alyssa, and me,” he said. “You’ll meet the rest soon.”
“I can hardly wait to see them shoot.” She didn’t believe him. He may have an uncanny ability with arrows and guns, but what were the chances that they all did? “When do the rest get here?”
At her question, a flash of something passed over his face, frustration or anger. She couldn’t tell which. “Rosa and Bess will be here soon,” he said. “I don’t know about the others.” And there it was again, an emotion that didn’t match the calm tone of his words, but this time she identified it: pain.
“Come on,” he said, already taking off his goggles. “Let’s go to the stables.”
CHAPTER 5
They rode back to the indoor range and returned the equipment to Shirley. She gave them a cheery good-bye, which was a stark contrast to Jesse’s brooding.
Honestly, what was with him?
At the stables, several horses were already saddled up, lazily nibbling grass in the corral. As Tori and Jesse got closer, a short, stocky man in baggy pants walked up to them, carrying riding helmets. A few days’ growth of beard colored his chin gray, and he wore a baseball cap pulled down low. He eyed Tori the way everyone had done since she’d gotten here, but whatever conclusions he drew, they didn’t show on his face.
“This is Booker,” Jesse said, taking one of the helmets, “and this is Victoria Hampton.”
“Tori,” she said. She took her helmet from Booker and smiled at him, remembering Jesse’s instructions not to get on his bad side. “Your horses are beautiful.”
He didn’t acknowledge her compliment, just turned to Jesse. “How did the shooting go?”
Jesse buckled his riding helmet. “She needs practice.”
Tori put her helmet on and resisted gritting her teeth. “The only time I didn’t hit most of the clay was when I closed my eyes.”
Booker nodded, cataloging this information. “All right then, let’s get you a horse. Bane has been waiting for a good rider.”
“You should give her a gentler horse to start with,” Jesse said. “Noche or Pepper.”
Booker raised an eyebrow, so Jesse added, “At archery she missed the bull’s-eye five times.”
Tori buckled her helmet with more force than it needed. “What does that have to do with horseback riding?”
Jesse didn’t answer. Neither did Booker. He walked to the corral.
“I’ve ridden horses since I was six years old,” she said.
Jesse remained unimpressed. “You haven’t ever ridden any of these horses.”
She would have said more, but she noticed that Dirk, Kody, Shang, and the evil blonde twins, Lilly and Alyssa, had all come to watch her ride. They sat at the far side of the field as though waiting for a soccer game to start.
Booker took a black horse’s reins in one hand and a brown horse’s in the other. At a strolling pace, he led them toward Jesse and Tori.
Before Booker had gone very far, Jesse walked the last few feet to the brown horse. Booker gave him the reins, and Jesse smiled at the horse and stroked his neck. “Hey, General, are you ready for a ride?” The horse nickered and pushed his nose against Jesse’s hand.
She hadn’t seen Jesse smile before, and the sight of it made her breath stop in her throat. With a smile on his lips and gentleness in his eyes, he moved beyond good-looking. He was stunning.
She watched Jesse murmuring things to his horse for another moment. It was clear they had a bond. Tori forgave Jesse for some of his aloofness right then. A guy who loved horses had to have a good side.
Booker held out the black horse’s lead. It was Noche and not Pepper, she guessed, because Noche meant “night” in Spanish. “You know your way around a horse?” Booker asked.
“Yes.” To prove the point, Tori placed her foot in the stirrup and mounted without his help.
Booker stepped away from the horse and put his hands in his pockets. “Take him around the field easy-like for the first lap or two. After that, Jesse will take you down the trail to the Easter grounds. You holler for Jess if you have any problems.”
If I have any problems? And this after they’d put her on the beginner horse. She tapped the horse’s side to walk him over to General. Jesse had mounted already and was watching her—checking, she supposed, to see whether she knew how to hold the reins.
As she reached him, Booker called out, “Just stay mounted and you’ll be fine!”
Always good advice when riding. His faith in her was touching.
Jesse said, “We’ll walk to the field. On my lead, we’ll go from walk, to canter, to gallop, okay?”
“Okay.”
Jesse prodded his horse forward. Tori followed, and within a few steps, the stress of the day fell away. She couldn’t be in a bad mood while horseback riding. There was something magical about riding a horse, a connectedness to nature that automatically happened. Sometimes when she rode Blitzer back home, she felt like she wasn’t a person at all; she was part of the wind and the trees, and the horse’s legs became her own.
The two horses sauntered over to the field. Tori glanced at the campers lined along the edge of the grass. Each set of eyes was trained on her. If they’d come to see her make a fool of herself, they’d be disappointed.
Jesse called out, “Canter,” and General picked up speed. Tori urged Noche to go faster, and the horse immediately did.
Almost at once, Tori’s body took on the rhythm of the horse’s steps. Her leg muscles were used to this action. The two horses cantered around the field once, and when Jesse seemed satisfied that she wasn’t about to slide off and be trampled to death, he called out, “Gallop!”
Galloping was always the most fun. “Come on, boy,” Tori said. “Let’s show him what we can do.” The horse responded even before she tapped his sides. This wasn’t a surprise. When one horse took off in a run, any others in the area were likely to follow. It was horses’ instinctual fear of predators.
Tori leaned forward, enjoying the way her hair rippled around her shoulders.
A show-jumping course was set up on the side of the field. Some of the fences were pretty high, too. Good. She liked jumping, but her parents never let her go over anything higher than a couple feet. Camp must not have the same restrictions. She wouldn’t mention this to her mother. Ditto for the motorcycle and shooting with her eyes closed.
Noche gained on General, and Tori decided not to hold him back. After all, Jesse had never said she had to stay behind him. If he wanted to be on the lead horse, he’d have to go faster.
They rounded the curve, and Noche sped up. For a few strides, he stayed neck and neck to General. Jesse stared at her, surpri
sed and then worried, like he wasn’t sure she had control.
“He’s a great horse!” Tori called to him.
And then, Noche effortlessly took the lead. Nothing lay ahead of Tori but the open field and the startled faces of the campers on the sidelines. She rode like this for a couple of minutes until Jesse caught up and called out, “Rein him in!”
Well, it had been nice while it lasted. And hopefully Tori had proved that she was a competent rider. She pulled back on the reins, and Noche slowed to a walk, shaking his head. He seemed to resent the demotion.
Tori stroked his mane. “You’re a marvelous boy. That’ll show them to classify you as a beginner horse, now won’t it?”
Jesse rode up beside her. She expected him to be angry, or at least disapproving that she’d gone so fast on a horse she wasn’t used to. Instead, he looked pleased. “Apparently ten years of horseback riding leave their mark.” He motioned with his head toward the forest. “I’ll take you to the Easter grounds now.”
Finally, approval. She shouldn’t have cared, yet she smiled anyway.
Jesse’s horse took off in a trot and she followed after him, thinking about the other sentence he’d just spoken: ten years of horseback riding leave their mark. So he knew she was sixteen. How much else did he know about her?
On the far side of the field, in the opposite direction as the cabins, a dirt road stretched through the woods. It was wide enough for both horses, so she prodded Noche to walk beside General. She had stopped resenting Booker for giving her the gentler horse. She loved the way Noche took direction so easily, as though he anticipated each of Tori’s requests.
The air was getting warmer, the humidity blanketing the forest, but the horses clomped along, at ease on the trail. Jesse held General’s reins in one hand with a relaxed stance. She wondered how many years he’d been riding.
He turned and saw her staring, so she said, “How far away are the Easter grounds?”
“About three miles.”
“Why are they called the Easter grounds?”
He hesitated. “The advanced campers are split into two teams and we do competitions. We play a game up there that’s like an Easter egg hunt.”